


Murdering husbands

by lillaseptember



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Blood and Gore, Explicit Language, Fluff, Gore, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Finale, and some gore, but eeeeeey, it's basically the same, it's hannigram, murder fluff, pure and simple fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-17 22:36:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4683875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillaseptember/pseuds/lillaseptember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murdering husbands, husbands murdering, murder husbands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murdering husbands

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fiction of any form in about a year.
> 
> But that finale man. _That finale._

"Fuck!"

Will jerked under Hannibal's usually so tender grasp. But the needle he was currently working had suddenly prodded much closer to Will's scrotum than he had mentally prepared himself for. The wound was small but deep, the blunt and jaded knife having not sliced, but teared it's way through the muscle tissue just below his groin, and had just managed to pierce his artery. The stab had proven to be lethal for the prey, seeing how he had just left the knife in Will's thigh, and given him the perfect utensil to tear his heart out of his chest.

But the blood loss had been great on both their parts, and it wasn't until the prey's heart had laid beating in Will's palm Hannibal had realized that half of the blood soaking through Will's clothes had been his own. The heart had quickly been disembodied and Will's belt had been torn off and tied around his leg and Hannibal's shirt had been ripped off and pressed to the wound and Will had softly dozed off as Hannibal had carried him out of the alleyway, the by then still heart pressed against Will's chest.

The dark motel room had smelled of disinfectant and felt foreign as Hannibal had carefully laid Will to rest on one side of the bed, the limp heart growing cold in Will's hands. There was so much blood and Will was so tired and Hannibal hadn't had the chance to stock up on morphine and so they had decided to do it without anesthesia, and Will had bared through it all without flinching until the tip of Hannibal's needle had come a little too close to his testicles for comfort.

But Hannibal just raised an immaculate eyebrow in surprise and peered down at him.

"It is not _that_ bad, Will," Hannibal soothed as he allowed his gaze to travel down the length of Will's body, before he set to work on finishing up the final stitches. Will had no idea how he had managed to stitch up his punctured femoral artery in such a short amount of time, all he knew was that Hannibal was Hannibal, that he was in a lot of dull pain and tired as hell. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed, wriggling under Hannibal's soft but steady grip. He had no memory of being struck across the back, but his spine was causing him all kinds of trouble lately, and he struggled to find a comfortable position.

"Doesn't mean that it still can't hurt like a bitch."

"I never quite remembering you having such a foul mouth," Hannibal muttered before he bowed his head down to Will's crotch. His breath was hot and humid against Will's thigh as he bit of the thread, his sharp teeth flashing in the weak moonlight pouring in through their dirty motel room window. In any other situation, he wouldn't have found himself as placid as he had in that moment, but the blood loss and the fatigue and the dip after the adrenaline rush had a way of dulling his senses. So he found himself just smiling softly as Hannibal pressed his lips gingerly to the new wound, an old routine of theirs.

But he scoffed at his remark, and couldn't help the comment that slipped through his lips as Hannibal straightened by his place on the side of Will on the bed. "Well, that just shows how much attention you paid to my personality."

There was a dark glint of humor in Hannibal's chestnut eyes as he looked down at him again. Will could just make out the flash of sharp teeth in the dark, before Hannibal ducked away from his gaze again. Hannibal's thumb just about hoovered over the gash in Will's thigh, traveled along the shallow scars across his chest, the new bite marks on his shoulders. Will allowed his gaze to wander from the old gunshot scar in Hannibal's side, to the slowly developing bruises on his arms and settled on the old brand mark on his back. They were barely more than scars and bruises nowadays. But it was all wounds that they both shared.

Hannibal's tender fingertips had found their way up to the marred scar tissue along Will's right cheek. Despite Hannibal's continuous efforts, they had never been able to salvage Will's appearance. Will had never been vain, but the disfigurement called for unnecessary attention. And he had never realized how much his looks had apparently played a part in his manipulations until he had lost it. Hannibal had never thought of him as disfigured though. He could never see Will as anything other than _beautiful_.

And he considered the scar his birthmark.

Hannibal's fingertips ghosted over the scar, as if afraid that it would tear if he touched it too unceremoniously, even after all this time, and still being unable to stop. "You got half of your face slit open, and you didn't make a sound."

"I was high on endorphins and blood loss." There was a blood streak on Hannibal's cheek, almost running parallel to Will's scar. As Will skimmed his tongue along his own teeth, he could still taste the tang of the pray's blood, and he wished he had the strength to reach out and lick the blood off of Hannibal's face. "And love."

A soft tenderness entered his eyes, a gaze he had learned Hannibal had preserved solely for Will himself. He pulled his fingers through Will's messy curls and they returned looking ink stained. His hair was still sticky with blood, drenched all the way to his scalp. He didn't quite remember bathing so vigorously in the pray's blood, but then again, the whole hunt was starting to become one big haze for Will. He would have to take a shower after this. If he could stand up. Hannibal would probably have to help him.

Hannibal didn't even savor a moment to inspect his black blood stained hand, he never once took his eyes off of Will. His eyes skittered across his face, from his eyes to his lips to his many scars, as if not knowing what to stop to focus on. Will sometimes wondered how he could have ever missed how fucking besotted Hannibal was with him, as his adoration was often written so plainly on his face.

"Our becoming," he finally whispered, and it wasn't until then Will realized how close he had approximated. His lips hoovered over Will's, and Will could taste his breath, the sweet tang of the pray's blood and the raw flavor of simply _Hannibal_ , and if he had had more strength, he would have pushed up to his lips immediately. But Hannibal took his sweet time waiting for Will to initiate, because god damn the cannibal who doesn't wait for consent.

"Our becoming," he repeated, the drowsiness that was heaving on him sneaking it's way into his voice. It had been a long hunt, and the immediate high of feeling someone's life slipping through his fingers in slick tendrils was quickly fading, and the affects of his own blood-loss was starting to invade his vision. And no matter how badly he wanted Hannibal to kiss him, the need for a nap was greater.

Hannibal slowly retreated, a sting of disappointment in his eyes. But it was soon replaced by worry, and he pulled his fingers through Will's hair again, letting his hand linger on the side of his head.

"You should rest Will."

Will shuffled further down into the bed, the old and worn box spring more comfortable than he remembered. His head lolled weakly to one side and his eyelids involuntarily slid shut.

"Hmmm, shower."

"Leave it be."

"As long as you promise not to lick me clean. I hate to be asleep as your tongue's working me."

A bright chuckle lit up the dark room, and Will could feel the vibrations of it to his core.

"I will try to control myself," Hannibal vowed as he leaned over him again, and presses a tender kiss into his blood drenched curls.

"That's not very promising." Will mustered enough strength to crack an eye open, and inspected his nakama, his soulmate, his worse half, as he grinned down softly at him, his lips stained with blood. Their becoming lay so many years in the past now, and all the years before that they had spent hunting each other, and time was slowly starting to blur for Will. They were one, and that was all that had mattered since The becoming. But his fatigue and his aching joints and battered muscles were slowly starting to betray him. "We're getting too old for this."

But Hannibal just smiled, a genuine smile that lit up his eyes and made his features soften, and he entwined his fingers into Will's hair again.

"No, my love. The becoming made us invincible."

"Invincible, maybe. But not immortal. Your gray hairs tell that much."

Hannibal raised one of his immaculate eyebrows again, and Will saw the sheer surprise through the cracks of his carefully assembled armor, as if the silver streaks would had somehow escaped Will's notice. He actually endeared them, it was a gentle reminder that not even Hannibal could escape the passing of time, and that he was just as much human as Will was. That when the time inevitably came, they would go together.

But Hannibal composed himself quickly enough, his trademark grin gracing his lips as his eyes twinkled down at Will.

"Gray hairs tell not of age, but of experience."

"You keep telling yourself that, grandpa."

Will felt Hannibal's smile in the way his hand tightened it's grip on his thigh. Will's eyes slid shut again, and he could feel his breathing growing heavier. Hannibal's thumb drew small circles on his skin, round and round and round and round as Will inhaled and exhaled and inhaled and exhaled and inhaled and exhaled.

"Get some rest Will. Old men need their recovery," was Hannibal's final comment as he draped the heavy comforter across Will's still form. The comforter was much too warm, and Will would wake up a sweaty mess in a few hours, but for the time being, he gratefully snuggled up in the soft fabric.

"Oh, look who's talking..." Was all he managed to murmur as Hannibal pushed his hair out of his forehead and let his hands trail down to his cheek, slowly caressing the scar. Will leaned into his embrace, and allowed the familiar scent and sense of home lull him into a peaceful sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while incredible sleepy. Can you tell?


End file.
